The Last Time He Cried
by Azamiko
Summary: When they cried
1. Default Chapter

disclaimer: not mine ;-;

LAST TIME HE CRIED

The last time he cried, there was no one there. He lay on the hard ground, feeling pebbles dig into his palms and knees, and couldn't find the strength to move. Slowly, slowly, tears formed and dripped onto the packed earth, the teardrops barely visible in the late afternoon sunlight.

Anyone looking at him would see nothing unusual, a young boy crying because he tripped. Anyone looking at him, anyone who didn't _know_, would think that his parents, or maybe a little friend, would be coming up the hill any second, to make his world right again, to dry his tears and brush off the dirt and pebbles.

However, those who _knew_ would know—though they'd never think about it—that no one would come to him. That he was alone, and that that was the real reason he cried. Not because of scraped hands and bruised knees, but because there was no one there to make them better. 

So, he knelt there, like an animal, on his hands and knees, and cried and cried. His black t-shirt, stained red with dirt and the setting sun, shook limply with every wracking sob.

Suddenly, the small boy let out an anguished scream, mimicking the animal he looked like, there, on the hard ground. His hands, still embedded with sharp pebbles, clenched into fists and he pounded, beat the ground as if it were the reason that he was alone.

This went on for what could have been hours or moments, the screaming and hitting. But finally, the boy stopped. His breath came in gasps, sounding as though he were drowning in the sorrow that surrounded him. But he wasn't, he was stronger than that. He had decided that he _had_ to be stronger than that. Because, and this the boy knew for a fact, if he were to drown, there would be no one to save him.

So, this would be the last time he would do this, the last time he would allow himself to cry out in sorrow, the last time he would show a sorrowful face. From this moment on, he would show nothing but a smiling face, and he would be strong.


	2. No Longer Would He Cry

disclaimer: not mine...;-;...

Oh yes, and thank everyone for reviewing my...umm...work;; I am flattered...probably beyond what is normal;

Paranoid Stalker Loves Slash--See! And my friends keep saying that I'm a pessimist...

kawaii-kirei--I read a lot of your works (actually, I think I've read at least one story by all of my reviewers, but I think I've read...almost all of yours)

Kurama Kagome FOREVER--Yes, Naruto's strength is why I adore him so much...He is a character that a lot of people can relate to, in

Fei-sama--Well, I was planning on continuing like this (ie, different chapter, different character) but I might add something more to them...maybe bring them together? And, you said 'other one,' as in, you actually read my other one? #

**NO LONGER WOULD HE CRY**

The last time he cried; all he could think about was the arms that were no longer there to hold him. It was dark and cold, and, for the first time, he was completely alone.

It wasn't something sudden, he had been too shocked at first to feel it when the tears began trickling down his pale cheeks. It wasn't until later, when he was huddled, frozen and alone in the dark street, that he realized what he was doing. Loud, racking sobs were torn from his throat, a tragic mockery of the laugh he had let out earlier that day, when his biggest concern was doing as well --as_ well_--as his older brother. The same older brother who had caused the pain that he was feeling now; the same older brother who had killed--no, _brutally murdered_--his entire family, from the oldest grandfather to the youngest infant.

Now, instead of laughing, instead of being scolded by his mother for working too hard, instead of casting admiring glances at his brother's hitai-ate, he curled up on the side of the road, shaking and shuddering and making noises that no longer even seemed human. No one saw him, they were all home with their families, not yet knowing just how wrong--how _disgustingly unfair_--the world was for one small, lonely boy.

Perhaps he should have sounded the alarm, perhaps he should have run to a neighbor's house and begged for aid, but the dark-haired boy did neither. Even if it was not intentional, this night had been good for one thing, it had taught the boy distrust, and hatred, and solitude. No longer would he strive for attention--from _anyone_--no longer would he laugh and trust and play; he was no longer a child. From the moment, just before dawn, the last tears dried upon his grubby face, he had become an avenger.

No longer would he cry.


End file.
